


Rekindled

by thebaddestwolf



Series: David x Billie Ficlets [1]
Category: Doctor Who RPF
Genre: F/M, Ficlet, RPF
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-28
Updated: 2015-02-28
Packaged: 2018-03-15 17:07:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3455117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebaddestwolf/pseuds/thebaddestwolf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>My first ever D/B ficlet series, <a href="http://thebadddestwolf.tumblr.com/tagged/rekindled%20fic">initially posted April 2013</a>. It starts off when David and Billie are having dinner on his birthday while filming the 50th anniversary episode of Doctor Who. It's a bit nonlinear and the tense switches, oops.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rekindled

Billie pushed the cupcake with a single glowing candle closer to David, smirking at the unconvincing annoyed look plastered on his face. As if she would let his birthday pass him by without inflicting some minor embarrassment, as if he didn’t love it. 

She watched the flame flicker in the reflection of his eyes and thought about the days ahead; Rose and the Doctor, Bills and Teninch, reunited in Wales once more. She hoped the temperature stayed low so they could cuddle on set again through puffy coats.

He shook his head, taunting her with those sideburns, and reached under the table to squeeze her thigh.

"I guess I should be thankful you didn’t try to fit the correct amount of candles on the cake," he said, voice barely audible over the din of the restaurant. "The whole table would be ablaze."

Kicking off her heel, Billie snaked her foot over his shoe and slipped it up the leg of his trousers, reveling in the look on his face as he tried to remain expressionless. Her pulse raced in anticipation of later on, when he would undoubtedly wipe the smirk from her face. Some things needed to be rekindled for old time’s sake.

But for now she leaned forward, tongue poking through her teeth, gazing at the ember in the eyes that were devouring her.

"Blow."

***

The sunlight always seemed a bit lighter in Wales, Billie thought, like the country air pushed more space between the beams that were flooding in through the hotel window. She was still in that space between sleep and consciousness, eyelids fluttering open and closed. Arching back on the mattress she sighed, deciding to succumb to sleep for another few minutes.

The hand spayed across her bare stomach tightens against her skin and she turns to look at him. His eyes are still closed so she lets her gaze hover over his features; light stubble growing along his jaw, hair a hopeless mess, and a hint of a bite mark lingering on his bottom lip. She nibbles her own at the memory, looking forward to discovering the marks he surely made on her body last night.

His hand starts to caress her stomach, dipping in her navel, swirling, moving lower. Eyes still closed, his lips form a smirk, and she chuckles as she lifts a hand to trace his boyish grin.

"What did you do to me last night, Piper?" he says against her fingers, lids still shut. "I ache all over."

 "Nothing worse than what you did to me," she replies, dragging her hand lower, fingers raking through his chest hair, skimming along his abdomen, brushing the hair under his belly button and following its path downward. He’s hard already, just as she suspected, and she strokes him lazily, letting her eyes fall closed too.

She gasps as he grabs her waist and turns her on her side, pushing himself flush against her and she feels him straining at the small of her back. His hand glides upward from its place on her stomach and begins to caress her breast, rolling her nipple under his thumb. A quiet noise builds at the back of her throat, filling the otherwise silent room, and she marvels at how easily he can undo her; just a few touches before she’s shapeless and bright like mercury.

Teeth sink into the flesh beside her neck as he slips inside her, muffling a groan against her shoulder. Her eyes jolt open and she covers his arm with hers, focusing on the expanse of sky outside the window. Even the weight of the clouds seems different from home, feels  _theirs_ , feels like it did when she’d sneak into his set trailer all those years ago.

In fact they could very well have traveled back in time, somewhere between dinner last night and the hotel, because her whole existence is his breath in her ear, and his hand on her breast, and his cock moving inside her, and that fucking sky. Just like it was so many times back when things were simpler.

As the warmth gathers in the pit of her stomach she sinks into the fantasy, wraps it around them both so that she hopes he call feel it too. And as she comes they create their own little universe, separate from the web of reality and time, just skin and  _fuck Dave_  and  _god Bills_  and that cloudy Welsh sky.

She closes her eyes.

***

Billie doesn’t even bother hitting the button for her floor, leaning back against the lift wall as he selects the right number, both holding their breath waiting for the doors to close.

David turns to her and she smiles, pressing her lips together, already gleefully guilty for crimes not yet committed. In two paces he’s in front of her, trapping her against the cold wall, hip to hip, chest to chest. Hands come up to grip her waist and he’s looking down at her, eyes burning right through.

Grabbing his left wrist, Billie squints at the face of his watch, trying to make sense of the inverted ticking hands. It’s fitting, this perspective, of time turned on its head. This week, after all, is about slipping back to the way things used to be: old characters, old friends, old habits.

They’d been able to eek it out for years, this platonic friendship thing, but they’re in Wales and he has sideburns and the air smells like it did on the nights she’d sneak over to his flat.

“11:43,” she says, finally interpreting of the upside-down watch. “Still your birthday, Teninch. Did you get everything you wanted?”

“Not yet.”

The lift dings.

He takes her hand and they’re gliding down the hallway, speed incrementally increasing with each step, collapsing into each other giggling when they finally reach his door.

He turns to her, gaze serious, and she notices the creases beside his eyes, deeper than they were the last time he looked at her like this.

“I missed you,” he says, thumb brushing across her cheek. They had seen each other several times over the past few months, but she knows exactly what he means. It’s not the same when he can’t touch her like this, when they’re pretending not to pretend that they’re happy being friends.

“I always miss you,” she whispers, hand covering his, and he’s yanking her into the room, pressing her backwards against the door until the lock clicks closed. His hand tangles in her hair, angling her face upward, resting his forehead against hers.

“Fuck, Bill I-” he starts, eyes closed, hand squeezing her waist under her shirt. “How do you do this to me?”

She could ask him the same question, feeling the wetness between her legs that had been there since he grabbed her thigh at dinner. Billie rakes her hand through his hair, from neck to crown, pushing her hips against his.

“Do what?”

David’s still chuckling as he kisses her, slow and soft and she can’t stand it. Tugging at his hair she parts her lips, tongue running along his mouth, tasting frosting and red wine. She whimpers against him and it’s his undoing, growling lightly as his tongue clashes against hers.

This is how she needs him; hungry and rough and insatiable. And she matches him, inch for inch, biting and gasping and grabbing. Somewhere in the back of her mind she knows she’s projecting, that she yearns for his touch so much it hurts, that she needs to see her passion reflected in him.

His bottom lip feels lush between her teeth and his grip tightens on her ribs, moving higher. In a succinct move he lifts her, wrapping her legs around his waist, and he’s hard against her in a way that makes her wish she’d worn a dress to dinner.

Painstakingly clothes are discarded, leaving a trail of fabric across the carpeted floor, and she’s sitting on the edge of the bed, him kissing up her thigh. Tilting her head back in a moan Billie catches a glimpse of a clock. 11:59.

She tugs him until he’s standing, leaning over her, and he thrusts into her with one swift movement. Her mouth falls open and he catches it with his, beginning to move in a way that makes her dig her nails into his skin, creating crescent dents.

Later, when they’re sticky and hazy and spent, she curls into his side and whispers the wish she’d meant to utter before midnight, before he melted her words.

“Happy birthday.”

 


End file.
